After admonishing his people to follow Christ and be baptized, Nephi said, “Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life” (2 Ne. 31:20). I see a paradoxical tension between the concepts of “enduring” and “having a perfect brightness of hope.” The word “endure” connotes little in the way of pleasure; its etymological root is “hard.” In French the word dure, which comes from the same Latin root, means “difficult,” “harsh,” “severe,” or “stern.” On the other hand, the words “perfect brightness of hope” connote light and optimism, warmth and peace. The two concepts don’t seem to go together.

Now Zina would be the first to tell you that having “a perfect brightness of hope” is not something I’m terribly good at. Depression does not just run in my family, it gallops. My mother stoically endured winter months with what we would now call Seasonal Affective Disorder. The Utah-valley temperature inversions that obscure the sun for weeks, sometimes months, on end left my mother sad, gloomy, and lethargic. Each year from December through April, I heard my mother repeat the words “I just hate winter,” her tone suggesting that the clouds were blocking the sun out of spite. My father, on the other hand, was perpetually dour. It was like living with Eeyore: “The sky has finally fallen. Always knew it would.” His depression was easily attributable to the fact that his own father was tragically killed in a lime kiln accident on his third birthday. The pain of that event was the cloud that hung over his family. His sister later committed suicide. But Dad, his mother, and his other five siblings carried on, not with a “brightness of hope” but with a kind of hard-faced stoicism, a determined but gloomy grit. Of course, both of my parents grew up during the Great Depression. Don’t get me wrong: both my parents were kind, generous people, but “perfect brightness of hope,” doesn’t describe my family of origin and, unfortunately, it doesn’t describe me. I’ve inherited Mom’s Seasonal Affective Disorder, and I learned Dad’s Eeyore all too well. Stoic I can do. Hope is much harder. When I read scripture passages that speak of “pressing forward” or “enduring to the end,” I automatically think of my parents, hunkered down and pushing forward, with an attitude of grim survival. To require endurance with “a brightness of hope” sounds tragically ironic. Like a clown at a funeral, it just doesn’t belong.

I see this same tragic irony in the LDS version of the fall of Adam and Eve. In stressing the fundamental truth of human existence that there must be “an opposition in all things,” the Book of Mormon states that only after the Fall could Adam and Eve experience joy. In the Garden, our first parents could have “no joy, for they knew no misery”; they could do “no good, for they knew no sin” (2 Ne. 2: 11, 23). So ironically Adam and Eve can’t enjoy paradise until after they’ve been kicked out. Yet, Eve sums up the paradox in poignant but hopeful words: “Were it not for our transgression . . . we never should have known good and evil, and the joy of our redemption, and the eternal life which God giveth unto all the obedient” (Moses 5:11). It seems somehow cruel that Adam and Eve were evicted from paradise immediately after they gained the ability to enjoy it, but evidently it takes pain to understand joy and that’s something they could never have had in the Garden.

I’m not sure we always appreciate the radical difference between our Mormon understanding of the Fall and that of most contemporary Christians. For them, the Fall of Adam and Eve was a disaster, the advent of all toil, sin, and suffering. Even for Milton, whose Paradise Lost posits a fortunate Fall, it is only fortunate after God provides a savior. It was not part of an original plan, and it would have been much better if it had not happened: “Happier had it sufficed [Adam] to have known/Good by itself, and evil not at all” (11.88-89). For us Latter-day Saints, the Fall was as much part of the original plan as was Christ’s atonement. They were both intended from the foundations of time. They were Plan A rather than emergency-backup-Plan B. Both were essential for humanity to exist and for us to achieve our full potential.

And what potential! The Mormon view of the capacity for human development is so vast it’s incomprehensible. But this infinite potential required Adam and Eve to leave the Garden, to use their bodies to work, to create, to have children, to gain knowledge, in short, to live. Just as they had to know pain to understand joy, they had to lose their innocence in order to fully be. They could not become godlike and retain a childlike naiveté.

So earth life was intended from the start to be a place of trials, but also a place of joy. In the Book of Moses, Adam rejoices after the fall, stating, “because of my transgression my eyes are opened, and in this life I shall have joy, and again in the flesh I shall see God” (Moses 5:10). And the Nephi states that, “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25). For some of us, however, brain chemistry makes it easier to notice the pain than the joy. The pain is inevitable; the joy needs to be sought after. The scriptures do tell us where to look for that joy. As Nephi says, it may be found in “love of God and of all men” and in “steadfastness in Christ.” I am struck by the word steadfastness. Steadfastness means having a fixed direction, a single purpose, and an unwavering resolution. But that also implies making a deliberate choice. We all have the choice to choose Christ or not, to choose joy or not.

Just as Adam and Eve were never meant to remain in the Garden, they were never meant to remain in the lone and dreary world either. They were not of this world, even though they had to learn from this world. But to return to their heavenly home required something impossible: to become wise but blameless, experienced but untainted.

Reconciling this paradox required the glorious impossibility, as Madeleine L’Engle has called it, of Christ. An angel describes Jesus birth as the “the condescension of God” (1 Ne. 11:16). The word condescension literally means “to descend with.” I have often wondered why Christ would have to become like us in order to save us. The answer seems to be for the same reason Adam and Eve had to leave the Garden: the experience of human life is essential for God-like understanding. Alma tells us that Christ endured “pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind” so that “his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:11-12). Only a God could do the impossible: endure human experience and remain sinless. And only a God could effect a reconciliation that allows us the same possibility.

So our goal in this life, it seems to me, is to leave here with a different type of innocence than we had when we came into it. We arrived innocent of experience, but we must return with experience but innocent of sin. We only do that by taking advantage of Christ’s healing grace and by seeking out the experiences that will help us grow. Mortality is not just about testing, it is about gaining knowledge. Certainly there are types of human experience we should avoid (the scriptures and Church leaders are pretty explicit about these), but it also seems to me that it is just as important to seek the experiences that will make us grow. And it’s usually from these that we find joy. I am reminded of Joseph Smith’s admonition in an oft-quoted sermon that, “the things of God are of deep import; and time, and experience, and careful and ponderous and solemn thoughts can only find them out. Thy mind, O man! if thou wilt lead a soul unto salvation, must stretch as high as the utmost heavens, and search into and contemplate the darkest abyss, and the broad expanse of eternity—thou must commune with God (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, 137). Joseph seems to be just as concerned that the saints gain knowledge as he is that they avoid evil.

From my experience teaching primarily Mormon college students I have come to believe that we as a culture are often more concerned about not experiencing anything bad than we are about seeking out the good. Some want to wall themselves up in a room where nothing bad can get in, where they can maintain their child-like innocence. The problem with this is that nothing good can get in either. Mortality is a place for learning, for exploring, for growing, and you can’t do that walled up in a room. It’s as if we believe we could gain salvation while remaining in the Garden of Eden. We Mormons know that the Garden of Eden was safe, but it was never very interesting, and we could never progress there, never grow there. If our minds must “stretch as high as the utmost heavens, and search into and contemplate the darkest abyss,” as Joseph said, it seems to me we can’t get there by simply avoiding R-rated movies and wearing modest attire. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord reminds Joseph Smith the trials of Liberty Jail “will give [him] experience, and shall be for [his] good. But the Lord also called Joseph to “seek . . . out of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning, even by study and also by faith” (D&C 88:118). The two types of experience—the pain that happens without our pursuing it and the learning that can only happen when we do pursue it are both important. And it’s primarily in the latter we find joy.

I believe one of the things that has made my life more joyful, more bright, and more hopeful than that of my parents has been the blessing I’ve had to pursue learning. I have been extremely fortunate to gain my living by reading good books, seeking learning, and studying. And I get to spend my time engaged in studying religion! A friend of mine said that if, as Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living,” then the unexplored faith is not worth having.” I like this idea!  And I’m blessed with the opportunity of spending much of my life exploring issues of faith.

But this would also be hollow if it weren’t the practice of faith, for the implementation of those principles in my own life. That is where I need the most work, but it’s also the main key to joy. I know that not long after I die, all that I have written and published, what I have said in the classroom, what I have accomplished will be forgotten. But I know that if I have lived a Christ-like life, I will have, as Nephi said, eternal life. That gives me a “brightness of hope.” Due to my brain chemistry and upbringing it’s not perfect, but as imperfect as it is it makes my life lighter and more joyful as I endure the pains of mortality. The Gospel has been the place where I have found the most profound joy. The ordinances I’ve received, the ordinations I’ve participated in, the healing blessings I have received, my marriage to Zina, the sealing to my parents and sister, the birth and blessing of my children, even the deaths and funerals of my parents have all been made sweet by my knowledge of my Savior’s atonement and my Heavenly Parents’ love. It’s been these sublime moments and others that have given me the knowledge that Christ’s Gospel is true, that he loves us, that he died for us. So I close with Christ’s words,  “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). With Christ, we can find joy.

When my father passed away three years ago, I spoke about what I had learned about life from his words and example. Today I would like to do the same for my mother. As you have heard from my wife, Zina, Mom was a capable and creative woman. She was not, however, a woman of science. Some of the things I learned from her just do not stand up under scientific scrutiny, but I find myself passing on the same wisdom to my own children.

One of the first things I learned from my mother was that if you eat the crusts of your bread your hair will go curly. I’m not exactly sure why she figured a small boy would want curly hair—I certainly didn’t—but I believe this advice was meant to encourage me not to waste food. As a child of the Depression, mother hated to see food wasted. It was a moral sin. I remember her encouraging Susan once to eat all of her hotdog because there are starving children in Africa who would love to have that hotdog. Susan’s response: “well, let’s send it to them!” I have yet to see a scientific study confirming the crust-curly hair correlation, but I have discovered Mom was right about how eating carrots improves your eyesight, so I am not willing to discard her other theories outright.

Mom also had great medical advice, like don’t go out without a sweater because you’ll get a chill and catch cold. When I learned in high school health class that colds are caused by viruses rather than a lack of sweaters, I tried to tell this to my mother. I vaguely remember her rolling her eyes at such a wrong-headed idea. The idea certainly never sank in. She continued to advise me and everyone else to wear a sweater to avoid catching cold. Now I find myself giving the same advice to my own children. During the past few months Mom sometimes expressed frustration with how weak she was, how the chemo was making her feel so exhausted and tired and feeble. She once stated that she didn’t know whether it was worth it. I told her that she really only had one other option—that if she stopped chemo the cancer would kill her. To that she said, “No, I will not die in the winter! I will not have all those people standing out in the cold.” I thought that was very courteous of her. No doubt she worried that we wouldn’t wear our sweaters.

One rather strange thing I learned from my mother is that Sunday dinner is a good time for gory stories. Mom loved to tell about how she broke her arm as a young girl when she fell out of a pear tree, how her mother thought the bone sticking out of her arm was a tree branch and started yanking on it, how for a full year she had to have her arm in a metal cast that had a little drain in it for . . . well, I really can’t finish the story without getting hungry for a nice slice of roast beef and some mashed potatoes. Remind me later to tell you about the tonsil puss and the rotten pork. Mom had an uncanny ability to turn a Sunday dinner into a dissection lab. I think she would have made a great nurse because she loved to talk about, examine, and fret about all kinds of wounds and contusions. I suppose that’s how I ended up writing my dissertation on Frankenstein.

Mom also taught me how to cook. She made the best French toast in the business. (BTW, the secret is to add a bit of flour to the milk and eggs so it creates a thicker batter.) My friends loved to sleep over at my house because they got breakfast in the morning. Mom was an excellent cook—despite the Sunday dinner conversation. I remember hot sweet rolls when I’d get home from school, cakes made from scratch, and some of the best sugar cookies in the world. It’s no wonder all of us had trouble keeping our weight down. And mom loved to feed people. No one came to our house without her offering them—sometimes forcing them—to eat. When I went on my mission and wrote letters talking about how much I missed her homemade pizza, Mom worked out a plan to smuggle her home-made pizzas into the MTC, meeting us by the back fence.

Mother also taught me by her actions to never do something halfway. When I was in fourth grade and had a creative assignment for our unit on Utah history, she helped me make salt clay dioramas of Native American cliff dwellings and a scale model of Geneva Steel. I vividly remember her melting wax and letting us dip candles when she was the den mother for my cub scout den. And I remember a pirate-themed birthday party complete with treasure map, treasure hunt, and a hidden treasure chest. After Susan and I stopped bringing her creative projects to throw herself into, Mom took cake decorating classes and volunteered to make the cakes for my cousin’s wedding and my grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary. She did special birthday cakes for all of our birthdays—I remember a guitar cake when I was young and a really wonderful reproduction of my 1965 Ford Fairlane for my nineteenth birthday. Later still, Mom took oil painting classes and became a really fine artist. She loved painting, and whether a flower, Marie Antoninette’s hamlet at Versailles, or a dilapidated barn, she could turn her subject into a lovely masterpiece. Mom’s creative energy was boundless and exhilarating.

Mom’s aesthetic sensibilities carried over to landscaping. She loved her flower gardens, and a year without petunias was, to her, simply unimaginable. She wore herself out a few years ago after planting the annul petunia crop, so after Dad died I tried to persuade her that she should give up the ritual and put in some shrubs. Her reply was simple: “what’s the point of living if I can’t have my petunias.” Mom also loved her vegetable garden. She loved a home-grown tomato, and we had a wonderful garden while I was growing up that yielded our most of our produce for the rest of the year.

One of the most important lessons I learned from my mother was dedicated service. Mom took care of everybody, but the most notable example was when, after her father passed away in 1976, Mom moved Grandma Meldrum into our house and took over much of her care. Mom knew that Grandma wanted to be in her own house though, so every day she would drive Grandma down to her home, pick up my aunt Florence who would stay with her throughout the day, and then she would drive her back down to our house every night. Mom taught us that you care for those you love, that service is the true expression of love.

Another thing I learned from mother is to overcome my fears. This may sound odd, because Mom was a chronic worrier. She worried about everything—like whether the roast should go a little longer or whether it should go a lot longer, whether or not the flowers would be out for Memorial Day, whether or not everyone had had enough to eat, and whether or not her family would be o.k. Once when she was visiting Washington, DC, Mom refused to take newborn Mary under a tree because she was worried an acorn might fall on her head. Mom worried. And when she didn’t have something to worry about she would find something to worry about. She believed, again in her typically unscientific way, that worrying was genetic—she claimed she got it from the Hansen side of the family and that her Grandpa Hansen was a true champion worrier. But Mom would not allow her worries to get in the way of life. When Geneva Steel closed and Dad was forced into an early retirement, Mom decided to go out and get a job. She was in her late fifties, had been out of the work force for over twenty five years, and I’m sure she worried that no one would want an older woman who had been out of the work force for so long. But she got her resume polished up and went out job hunting. It only took her a few days, as I remember it, before she landed a job with Mountain America Credit Union, where she worked for over a decade.

Likewise, when Dad passed away, Mom had not driven a car in many years. She had had quite a bit of surgery on her eyes and had lost a lot of her vision, but the doctors had always told her that she could still drive. With Dad around, she must have felt that it was better to not take any chances, but when he died she vowed that she would not let his death keep her from getting around to her monthly lunch appointments with her group of friends or from her artists’ section meetings or from her hair appointments. I worried—evidently I inherited that gene too—about my mother driving. I thought for sure she would end up in an accident. When one day she called me and told me she had wrecked the car, I was about to say “I told you so,” when she described the accident and I realized it was the other driver’s fault. Mom had just been waiting at a light and some young woman ran into her. Time and again, Mom overcame her fears and got on with her life.

Strangely, when she was diagnosed with cancer, Mom did not worry. She did not cry or fuss or fret. She just wanted to get through this so she could get better. For some reason she didn’t worry about what would happen to her. She told us she wanted to have a party after she was done with the chemotherapy. We never got to have that party, but we did have a lovely fairwell party the weekend prior to her death. We got her home from the hospital on Friday and then that weekend she had a steady stream of friends and relatives visit her to say goodbye. Mom was so weak I could not believe she could keep going. But I believe she was waiting to see her brother, Floyd, one last time. She was so proud of him; she told everyone—home teachers, friends, neighbors, doctors, nurses—about her brother who lived in Las Vegas. Floyd did make it up to visit her on Sunday and Mom passed away a day later.

Mom was diagnosed with cancer just prior to Christmas, and we were faced with the very real possibility that she would soon leave us. She had a hard Christmas this year, suffering the effects of the first round of chemotherapy. She had lost her appetite, her strength, and her much of her hair. She finally died the day after Easter. She was peaceful, calm, and brave. The fact that her sickness bridged these two holidays—the one celebrating the birth of the Jesus, the other celebrating His death and resurrection—highlights the tragedy of mortality and the ultimate triumph of mortality made possible by Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. “In the world,” reads the Gospel of John, “ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Mom certainly experienced tribulation. From growing up during the Great Depression to the chemo treatments at the end of her life, her life was never easy. But Mom went through it all with grace and dignity. And thanks to the Good News of Christ’s sacrifice, we know she, like all of us, will overcome.

The chief critic of Beck’s views was the progressive theologian Jim Wallis, who called for Christians to leave Glenn Beck: “what he has said attacks the very heart of our Christian faith, and Christians should no longer watch his show.”  Beck later clarified that he is not against helping the poor; rather he is against churches that use their podiums to promote government programs that would redistribute wealth. He seemed to call for a separation of church and state—at least within churches, not necessarily in the state; or at least in liberal churches where social justice might be taught. Pointing to Jeremiah Wright’s church, Beck stated that, “it’s a problem when your preacher stands up and starts telling you who to vote for, how to vote, and what the government should look like.” I would like to think Beck would feel this same way about a preacher who urged congregants to vote for conservative candidates or advocate a conservative government agenda. But somehow I doubt it.

Regardless, Beck has started a debate about religion and social justice which is long overdue in our nation. Unfortunately, the debate has been clumsy, ugly and, at times, downright silly. The issue that has been lost here is, I believe, the proper role of government in alleviating poverty and its effects. Jim Wallis and most other commentators attacking Beck have noted correctly that religion is all about social justice, but they have missed the obvious debate about how social justice should be brought about. I will concede that when academics and theologians speak of “social justice” and “economic justice” they often are seeking more than simply care for the poor and more generous donations to charitable organizations. They are more often advocating structural changes to our society that might end poverty—better access to health care, stronger educational systems, more effective job training programs, pay equity, etc. Nevertheless, I doubt many of these reformers advocate communism or Nazism as the cure. (The slippery slope fallacy seems to be Beck’s forte.)

What I don’t understand is why conservatives like Beck feel threatened by such reforms. I understand the libertarian position that government should do less. Indeed for Mormons like Beck and me, personal agency is eternal and sacred. Mormon theology postulates a radical individual agency that is eternal, central to God’s purpose, and opposed only by evil forces. For Mormons, free agency is not something to mess with. Nevertheless, most Mormons would see no affront to agency in government taking a strong stand against such moral issues as abortion. In fact, a Pew survey revealed that over 70 percent of Mormons in the U.S. say abortion should be illegal in most, if not all, cases. Conservative though they often are, most Mormons are not pure libertarians who long for government to stay out of economic and moral issues. Rather, they believe that abortion is an evil that government cannot tolerate. They would not see laws that outlawed abortion as forcing people to do good or as taking away free agency. They would expect government to reflect the community values of honoring the sanctity of human life.

I agree. In 2005—the most recent statistics we have on the issue—over 1.2 million abortions took place in the United States, with slightly more than one in five pregnancies ending in abortion. Despite a downward trend over the past 30 years, abortion rates are too high, and, I believe, we must do more to fight this tragedy. Those who want to end abortion need to know, however, that there is a direct link between abortion and poverty; women living below the federal poverty level ($9,570 for a single woman with no children) are more than four times more likely to have an abortion than women above who live at 300% of the poverty level (44 vs. 10 abortions per 1,000 women). What conservatives seem to ignore is that there is any connection between abortion and poverty, and that ending poverty might be one of the best ways to fight abortion.

Many conservatives will argue that abortion is a moral issue. Unfortunately, we all too frequently view morality in very narrow terms, focusing most often on sexuality and excluding broader issues of right and wrong. Historically morality has had to do with right conduct, of living a life of honesty, responsibility, and charity. Theorizing a working system of morality has been a chief concern of theologians and philosophers for millennia; however, a basic principle of most of these theories is an acceptance that we should minimize the harm and suffering of others. The conservative argument about abortion has been that it causes the death of over a million lives each year and therefore the government must intervene. This argument may hide a deeper desire to control sexuality; however, it is, nevertheless, a consistent moral argument for banning abortion.

However, if we define morality in the same way as pro-life advocates situate their argument—as the need to preserve human life—poverty must also be seen as a moral issue. Poverty is, like abortion, a tragedy that kills. For example, studies have shown a direct relationship between poverty and higher rates of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, mortality from breast cancer, and childhood disease. Lower income families have twice the mortality rate of those in the mid- to high-income levels, and the income-associated burdens of disease appear to be the leading cause of morbidity and mortality in the United States. Despite declines in morbidity and mortality in the U.S. throughout the twentieth century, the same decline for the poor was only modest (if at all). A recent study published in the American Journal of Public Health concludes that over 45,000 people die annually due to lack of health insurance. The study determined that “uninsured, working-age Americans have a 40 percent higher risk of death than their privately insured counterparts, up from a 25 percent excess death rate found in 1993.” [1] Poverty, even in the United States, kills. In developing nations the deaths from malnutrition and disease are often catastrophic.

Education was intended to be the great equalizer in our nation to prevent generational poverty; however, it has become less and less effective in achieving this end. The gap between poor and middle-class children starts early and increases as they move through the system. Children living in poverty will enter fourth grade two to three grades behind their higher-income peers; only half will graduate from high school; and those that do will perform at only an eighth-grade level. Only one in ten will graduate from college. With these kinds of results, it’s perhaps not surprising that according to the Organization for Economic Co-Operation and Development the U.S. now lags behind OECD nations of Denmark, Australia, Norway, Finland, Canada, Sweden, Germany and Spain in intergenerational socio-economic mobility, the ease with which citizens move up or down the social ladder. The American Dream is becoming the Northern European and Canadian Dream.

I cannot help but see poverty as a moral issue, one that God has called all his children to address. The Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, the Qur’an, all call their disciples to care for the needy, clothe the naked, and give aid to the sick and weary. Mormon scripture is no different. As Elder Marion G. Romney once wrote, “A Latter-day Saint should abhor poverty and do all in his power to alleviate it. He should remember the Lord’s statement, ‘it is not given that one man should possess that which is above another’ (D&C 49:20), and that in the Lord’s plan ‘every man’ is to be ‘equal according to his family, according to his circumstances and his wants and needs’ (D&C 51:3).3.”[2] How we achieve this goal is a point to be debated, and scripture is less clear in this area. The question is whether the call to action is personal or public, whether the end goal is best achieved through private contributions and private enterprise or through government-led social changes. But the call to honor the sanctity of life is also one that can be either personal or public; a consistent libertarian view would advocate the same hands-off governmental approach to abortion as to poverty. If we are going to call on government to reflect the moral values of our people, as I believe it should, we need first to define “morality.” And if we are going to fight a systemic problem, like abortion and poverty, perhaps a systemic answer is in order. Such an approach is not a call to socialism, communism, or Nazism. It is a call for a government that mirrors the Kingdom of God on earth.

[1] Wilper, Andrew P, et al. “Health Insurance and Mortality in US Adults.” American Journal of Public Health 99.12 (2009): 2289-95. MEDLINE. Web. 20 Mar. 2010. See also Dowd, Jennifer Beam, Anna Zajacova, and Allison Aiello. “Early Origins of Health Disparities: Burden of Infection, Health, and Socioeconomic Status in U.S. Children.” Social Science & Medicine 68.4 (2009): 699-707. Academic Search Premier. Web. 13 Mar. 2010. Malloy, Michael H., and Karl Eschbach. “Association of Poverty with Sudden Infant Death Syndrome in Metropolitan Counties of the United States in the Years 1990 and 2000.” Southern Medical Journal 100.11 (2007): 1107-13. Academic Search Premier. Web. 13 Mar. 2010. Muennig, Peter, et al. “The Income-Associated Burden of Disease in the United States.” Social Science & Medicine 61.9 (2005): 2018-26. Academic Search Premier. Web. 13 Mar. 2010. Steenland, K, S Hu, and J Walker. “All-Cause and Cause-Specific Mortality by Socioeconomic Status among Employed Persons in 27 US States, 1984-1997.” American Journal of Public Health 94.6 (2004): 1037-42. CINAHL Plus with Full Text. Web. 13 Mar. 2010. Vona-Davis, Linda, and David P. Rose. “The Influence of Socioeconomic Disparities on Breast Cancer Tumor Biology and Prognosis: A Review.” Journal of Women’s Health 18.6 (2009): 883-93. Academic Search Premier. Web. 13 Mar. 2010. Warren, John Robert, and Elaine M. Hernandez. “Did Socioeconomic Inequalities in Morbidity and Mortality Change in the United States over the Course of the Twentieth Century?” Journal of Health & Social Behavior 48.4 (2007): 335-51. Academic Search Premier. Web. 13 Mar. 2010.

[2] Marion G. Romney, “Gospel Forum,” Ensign (Jan. 1971): 16.

After reading the statement on the Provo School District web page essentially endorsing our children seeing President Obama’s speech this week, I was thrilled that my two children would be able to see the President speak to them in the classroom despite the rancorous public controversy. I was also thrilled when our governor and even many of our state legislators came out in favor or letting children hear the President’s words. However, when my children came home and I discovered that they had not heard the speech, I was flabbergasted. I understand you were likely dealing with many angry parents, and I know first-hand how difficult this decision must have been to make. However, I believe that, when faced with the easy/wrong choice or the difficult/right choice, you opted for easy and wrong. And you sent a powerful negative message to our children and our neighborhood.

I have lived in Utah valley most of my life. I was born and raised here and went to Provo public schools. I vividly remember hearing many politicians speak at school events. Since this is Utah valley, almost all of them were Republicans with whom my parents disagreed. But my parents taught me to respect the office even if I didn’t agree with the office holder. My parents taught me to listen to differing opinions with respect and assume good character in political discourse. This was in the middle of the Watergate years, when many nasty things were being said about Republicans. I was taught good civic manners. I regret that such a lesson was not taught to students at Provost this year.

I have attended the patriotic service put on by the Provo school district many times, complete with images of Republican office holders, and I have always respected that decision. I have always assumed that we share a common heritage as Americans.

My father was in the Navy during World War II and my father-in-law, Hugh Nibley, landed on Utah Beach on D-Day. Both sacrificed for their country. Both were active in the local community. And both were strong, committed Democrats. They would have been proud to know that President Obama cared enough about our children to address them, and both would have been highly offended that my children were denied that privilege.

I am particularly troubled by your decision since the text of the President’s speech was online many hours before he spoke, and one could easily see that it was a non-partisan address, one meant to inspire the very type of students enrolled in a Title I school like Provost. Furthermore, both Presidents G.H.W. Bush and Reagan addressed students during their presidencies. I suspect those addresses were seen by students in Utah valley.

Last year I was a candidate for the state legislature, and ran on a platform dedicated to local, public schools. My wife and I have long believed that community public schools are the basis of democracy. However, your decision has me rethinking my position. I am seriously thinking that my children may be better off in a charter school where they can hear the words of the President of the United States.

Your decision also contributes to a disturbing incident in our family. On the Fourth of July this year, we bought a bunny for my third-grade son, Nate. In a patriotic gesture he named the bunny Obama. Two days ago one of his friends told him that when she told her mother that Nate had named his bunny Obama, his mother said “well, we ought to shoot it then, because Obama wants to make slaves of all the white people.” My son, needless to say, was traumatized and could not sleep that night, afraid that someone was going to kill his bunny. Of course I was very disturbed that a grownup would make such a comment. But what disturbed me more is that your decision reinforces the belief in our neighborhood that our President is evil, and may even contribute to a racist ideology that, I believe, lurks behind some of this current hatred.

You had the opportunity to help educate our youth, to help them overcome political divisiveness, to eradicated racial stereotypes and fears, to give them a chance to see that our President is a good example of working hard to overcome difficulties and creating a successful life. I am extremely disappointed in your decision to censor the President’s message.

I think you owe all of us an apology.

Sincerely,

Boyd Petersen

I discovered, however, that in politics things are just not that simple. First, I found that most of these unaffiliated voters self identified as Republicans, or at least saw the Republican “brand” as more appealing. They liked to claim independence of thought, but most were every bit as committed to the Republican Party as the affiliated Republicans. I found that even the registered Republicans liked to think of themselves as fair-minded people who study the issues and vote for the best candidate. But what they think they do and what they actually do is not the same.

For example, my wife was helping out with polling one night and she reported speaking to one self-identified Republican voter, reading the prepared questions:
“On what do you base your voting decisions?”
“Issues,” responded the voter.
My wife continued, “If someone shared your views and was running as a member of the opposing party, in your case a Democrat, would you vote for him or her?”
The response, “absolutely.”
“Do you plan to vote for Becky Lockhart, or Boyd Petersen for state legislature?”
“Which one is the Republican?” the voter asked.
Some voters, however, didn’t seem to know they could vote for individuals rather than a straight party ticket. I spoke with one Hispanic gentleman who had very strong feelings about immigration reform but also had very strong conservative moral values. He said he was going to vote a straight Republican ticket. It took twenty to thirty minutes to explain to him that if he did this he would end up voting against his interests about half the time. I finally ended up getting a sign in his yard and probably got his vote, but I realized that every vote above my 5% was going to require a long conversation.

Nevertheless, if some votes came hard, some came surprisingly easy. I found that the people who knew me, people in my neighborhood and ward—most of them strong Republicans, enthusiastically supported me. If they knew me, they tended to support me, and my position on issues didn’t really seem to matter to these people. In fact, my home teacher and I had just engaged in a very lively debate about vouchers a few months before I announced I was running. He was solidly pro-vouchers and I was solidly anti-vouchers. Nevertheless, when I announced my candidacy, he was one of the first people in the neighborhood to request a sign and offer to help with the campaign. But I also found that some votes, even from people who agreed with my platform, were impossible to get. Some people who should have supported me ideologically but didn’t know me often would adamantly not support me. Several public school teachers and officials told me flat out that they could not support a Democrat. On election day, I got a phone call from a sister in my ward who reported “Today, I did something I have never done before: I voted for someone who was not a Republican!” She had voted for me, but still couldn’t say the “D-word.” My positions really didn’t matter to most people. It was about whether I had a relationship of trust with them. Was I one of them? It all came down to tribe.

Now that the election is over, I have been reading up on the subject of how voters make decisions, and I have found that the anomalies I encountered as a candidate can all be explained by current research on the brain. According to that research, positions don’t much matter in politics. It’s all about emotion. Emotions about party, candidates, and, finally, issues.
In study after study, researchers have found that it is not so much what voters think than it is about what voters feel. “In politics,” states Drew Westen, “when reason and emotion collide, emotion invariably wins” (35). Contrary to Enlightenment models of thought, emotion works hand in hand with reason. Summarizing the conclusions of cognitive and brain scientists, George Lakoff notes that idea that reason is “conscious, literal, logical, universal, unemotional, disembodied, and serves self-interest” is completely false (2). In fact, 98% of our thought takes place unconsciously and emotion and reason cannot be separated. It’s not so much that we are duped by emotion, but that emotion guides reason. Westen compares emotion to a “compass” that, in conjunction with reason, helps us to avoid adverse stimuli and seek out rewarding stimuli (88).

In sum, Weston states, “although the marketplace of ideas is a great place to shop for policies, what matters most in American politics is the marketplace of emotions” (35-36). And three sets of emotions, in this order, are primary in determining how people vote: their feelings toward the parties and the party’s principles, their feelings toward the candidates, and, if they haven’t decided by then, their feelings toward the candidates’ policy positions. Voters get their feelings toward the parties largely by internalizing the values of their parents. “The single best predictor of party affiliation—and of broader value systems associated with it—is in fact the party affiliation of our parents” (Westen 82). So party loyalty is largely determined before one has really thought about the issues, despite what we might consciously want to believe. Most of us determine what tribe we belong to long before we know what that tribe stands for.

In a study I found particularly interesting, Drew Westen and several of his colleagues at Emory University did brain scans on fifteen committed Republicans and fifteen committed Democrats during the 2004 election. The psychologists discovered that when subjects saw images of their own party’s candidates, a part of the frontal lobe called the “frontal pole” was activated. It is an area that other studies have shown is particularly active when a subject thinks about something related to him- or herself. In short, the very sight of an image of our party’s candidate involuntarily activates brain synapses that foster identification with that candidate; whereas seeing images of the other party’s candidates activated areas of the brain where negative emotional reactions take place (52-53). We perceive candidates from our own party as “like us,” as part of our tribe. These responses are as involuntary as our breathing.

In another part of their study, Westen took brain scans as subjects read a series of statements attributed to the Republican and Democratic candidates, statements that any dispassionate observer would find conflicting. What Westen and his colleagues found is that people had no problem seeing the contradictions in the opposition’s candidate, but found their candidate’s position much less contradictory.

The brain scans showed that when confronted with the initial conflict in the person of their candidate, neural circuits associated with negative emotional states turned on, but as the individuals reasoned, falsely, toward a rationalization for their own candidate, neural circuits associated with positive emotions turned on. The partisan brain actually rewarded the individuals for biased reasoning. The circuits activated overlap significantly with those activated when a drug addict takes a hit, “giving new meaning,” as Westen puts it, “to the term political junkie” (xiv). Again a tribal instinct kicks in: our brains suppress conflicts with those who are part of our tribe.
I discovered when running a campaign that what voters really wanted to know was what tribe I belonged to. Was I one of them? My positions mattered very little. Voters were focused on their emotions about the political party I was affiliated with first and foremost. If they already knew and trusted me, their feelings toward me overshadowed their feelings about my party. But if they didn’t have any feelings for me, they focused on party and often voted, I believe, against their own interests.

So how did Mormon voters as a group come to have such positive feelings for the Republican party? How did Mormons come to see themselves as part of the Republican tribe? (My wife suggests it comes from Joseph’s Inspired Version translation of James 1:5: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men conservatively….”)

Thomas Alexander has outlined five distinct periods of Church involvement in Utah politics. During the first period, spanning from 1847-1891, the church “essentially dominated the Utah scene” (36) with its own party, sponsoring candidates and opposing gentile political involvement. As the Church moved into the 20th century, it was forced to confront the dominant American culture head on. We can think of this as a process of assimilation, as Armand Mauss has called it; as a process of reconstructing memory, as Kathleen Flake has called it; or as a process of colonization of the Mormon mind, as Richard Bushman has called it; but we know that this process involved both accommodation of American values and a reinvention of what it means to be Mormon.

In order to achieve statehood, Mormon leaders disbanded the Mormon People’s Party, and urged members to become Republicans in order to achieve the political balance necessary for Utah to be granted statehood. Mormons were asked to switch their tribal loyalty from the Democrats (who had not had a party platform against the “twin evils of slavery and polygamy,” as the Republicans had), to the Republicans, in the name of political expediency. The administration of Heber J. Grant inaugurated a less partisan period of Church influence; however, Grant’s concerns about the New Deal and J. Reuben Clark’s increasing influence in the First Presidency led to a more partisan approach. From the late 1950s to the present, despite many individual Church leaders’ avowing Republican leanings, the Church as an institution has taken a more neutral part in political affairs, only entering the political fray, as Alexander put it, “to support or oppose measures they considered moral issues” (36). Significantly, this is the very period in which Utah Mormons became more closely allied with the Republican party.

Looking back, it is hard to believe that Utah (and its predominately Mormon electorate) once voted enthusiastically for Democratic presidential candidates. From William Jennings Bryan, and Woodrow Wilson (second term), through all four terms of FDR (despite President Heber J. Grant’s advice to vote against him), to Truman and LBJ, Mormon Utah supported Democrats. Certainly, it also supported Republicans, but it was once considered a swing state, one that both parties courted and wooed. However, since 1964, every Republican presidential candidate has won Utah, and in all but two cases by over 60% of the vote. Utahns have not elected a Democrat to the Senate since Frank Moss left in 1977, nor to the governor’s mansion since Matheson left in 1985. The shift in Utah politics took place over the very period that Alexander says the Church leadership became less overtly and publicly partisan. It is curious that this tribal identification of Mormons with the GOP took place at a time when the Church leaders were less directly involved in politics.

Certainly the issues coming to the fore during the decades of the 50s through the 70s—communism, civil rights, welfare reform, abortion, the ERA—were galvanizing. Furthermore, the impact of Ezra Taft Benson’s outspoken conservatism during these years must also be considered. However, I believe there was another factor, one more subtle but more profound: Republican discourse frames began to overlap with the frames of Mormon discourse in subtle ways that remapped the Mormon mind.
Linguists have known since the mid-70s that the brain organizes words by semantic fields, or what Lakoff calls “conceptual frames” (22). We are mostly familiar with this concept in the idea of professional jargons. For example, for an actor, the words “play,” “direction,” “score,” and “run” have specific meanings in the semantic field of her profession. The exact same words used by an athlete, in the semantic field of sports competition, mean something else entirely, and the framing is what makes the difference.

Such frames, in turn, create conceptual metaphors that organize our thinking. We think metaphorically and, at the same time, metaphors shape how we think. Political issues, like everything else, are always framed, and political language is never neutral. Take, for example, the issue of immigration reform. If we use the phrase “illegal immigrant” we are already, by framing it with that adjective, making a judgment about the issue that is very different from the alternate frame available in the term “undocumented immigrant.” We are usually not aware that we are using such frames when we think about issues, but by talking about these issues in these ways, repeating the framing metaphors over and over again, our brains are changed.

George Lakoff argues that there are two primary frames that shape the way people think about political issues: both see governance through metaphors of the family. One is an obedience-oriented frame that Lakoff calls the “strict father” metaphor. It sees a family structure where “children” (i.e., the citizens) need to be disciplined by a strong “father” (i.e., the government) in order that they can be made into responsible “adults.” Once the “children” reach adulthood, however, the “father” should no longer interfere with their lives: the government should not interfere with the business of those in society who have proved their responsibility.

The other frame is an empathy-oriented approach that he calls the “nurturing parent” metaphor. This metaphor sees both “mothers” and “fathers” working to help the essentially good “children” develop and keeping them away from “corrupting influences” like pollution, social injustice, and poverty. Most people are what Lakoff calls “biconceptional,” employing both models in different spheres of their lives. But when one frame is activated, the other turns off. The difference between conservatives and progressives, Lakoff argues, stems from the fact that they subscribe with different strengths to one or the other of these orienting metaphors.

Conservatives follow more closely the “strict father” metaphor and thus find themselves in the Republican tribe, while progressives follow the “nurturing parent” model and find themselves in the Democratic tribe. However, Republicans, both Lakoff and Westen concur, have been much better at crafting frames for their arguments, moving politics from the world of ideas to the world of emotion-laden values.

At the same time Republicans have been mastering the world of metaphorical framing, Mormons leaders have, likely unconsciously, employed metaphorical frames from the same network. For example, Gordon and Gary Shepherd have shown how the rhetoric of General Conference shifted between 1890 and 1950, as uniquely Mormon themes like Zion, kingdom-building, eschatology, missionary work, apostasy, etc. declined and more American themes like patriotism and good citizenship increased. Particularly important has been an increased emphasis, especially since the 1950s, on obedience, keeping the commandments, and the importance of obeying priesthood leaders. Academics like Richard Poll, Eugene England, and most recently Terryl Givens have noted the tension within Mormon thought between obedience and individuality, community and freedom, the “Iron Rod” and “Liahona” perspectives. However, within the general Mormon populace the emphasis has shifted so far toward “obedience” that most members don’t often perceive much tension.

For example, when I read to my High Priests Group the 1945 ward teaching message that “when our leaders speak, the thinking has been done,” all of them nodded in agreement, assuming the statement was gospel. When I told them that the statement had been repudiated by President George Albert Smith, they were astonished, but seemed, ironically, eager to follow their priesthood leader’s orders to stop blindly following orders. Combine this discourse of obedience with the patriarchal structure of Mormon hierarchy, and contemporary Mormon cultural framework maps astonishingly well onto Lakoff’s metaphor of the “strict father.” In fact, Lakoff even cites as an example of the strict father “politics of authority” a quote by President James E. Faust: “Obedience leads to true freedom. The more we obey revealed truth, the more we become liberated” (61).

Another significant shift in Mormon rhetoric has been noted by Armand Mauss in an essay published in the recent festschrift for Eugene England. Mauss sees a change in Mormon discourse from the analytical to the affective, from an emphasis on doctrine to an emphasis on feelings. He astutely observes that while speakers in Mormon chapels once “reached under the lectern in search of the books of scripture,” today they reach for that “dependable box of Kleenex tissues” (23). This change in discourse, Mauss argues, “symbolizes the triumph of feeling over understanding” in contemporary Mormonism. It is indicative of: “a softer worship over a harder one; perhaps of an evangelical—or even Pentecostal—homiletic over an analytical style; of personalized adaptations of scripture over appreciation of historical context. It represents the triumph of the heart over the head in popular Latter-day Saint religious expression” (24).

I certainly do not wish to characterize conservative thought as less intellectual or less rational, but many on both sides of the political divide have acknowledged that Republicans have done a better job of framing their agenda in emotional terms. Democrats have too often grounded their campaigns on Enlightenment theories of rationality, ignoring the ways emotion and reason work together in the decision making process. So the Church’s move toward more emotive discourse would also help solidify an unconscious tribal connection between Republicanism and Mormonism.
Many Mormon Democrats share with me a sense of frustration that we are not fully accepted within Mormon culture, that our tribe has been voted off the island. We believe, as we must seeing the world as we do through our framing metaphors, that what we see as our core moral values—caring for the poor, providing strong education, protecting the environment—are fully compatible, in fact, central to Mormonism. Yet many of our fellow Church members see us as apostates.

For example, in Tuesday’s Deseret News, an op-ed written by an adjunct history professor at Weber State cried out for tolerance among Mormon congregations for differences of ideology, stating that Mormon Democrats “have faced increasingly vicious verbal attacks in [our] wards and in [our] neighborhoods.” Many of the comments from readers of the online version of the article drove her point home with unconsciously and self-righteously viscious irony. They compare progressive ideology to “Satan’s plan,” state that tolerating Democrats’ views would necessarily “dilute the true doctrines of the Church,” and call the author of the column “morally week,” “unstable,” and “a nutcase.” Utah Mormons still ask the question, “Can a good Mormon be a Democrat?” But no one is asking “Can a good Mormon be a Republican?” despite the fact that many of us see, as we cannot help but see, through our progressive Mormon frame, serious problems reconciling some of the values of the Republican party with Mormon values. At times we progressive Mormons feel like we are not just a different tribe, but like we are living on a different planet from politically conservative Mormons, and I’m sure that conservative Mormons can only look upon progressive Mormons with disbelief. While we may not be living on separate planets, we are seeing our world through different frames and that gap that divides us into separate tribes can seem unfathomable.

This gulf between the tribes is not healthy for Mormon religious devotion. I have personally known many students who have left the Church because they have felt excluded or ridiculed for their progressive beliefs. However, I believe, one-party dominance is a problem for the Church itself. As others have noted, nationally both parties tend to ignore the Mormon vote; Republicans know they have it in the bag and Democrats know they don’t have a chance. Candidates for national office don’t bother with Utah. But one-party rule also leads to ethical lapses. When I lived in Washington, DC, I experienced first-hand the problem with single-party Democratic party rule, and I believe similar problems plague Utah. The problem also affects the image of the Church as we become a world religion. It becomes difficult to bridge cultural divides when we have a dominant “strict father” political frame and Mormonism is so closely tied to the Republican agenda. However, the bigger problem can result when our culture’s “strict father” obedience frame overwhelms and even denigrates the “nurturant parent” frame. I reported elsewhere how the Church received some extremely unfavorable media attention these past few years as it was revealed that Mormons had been involved in creating, implementing, and defending interrogation techniques that many felt crossed the line into torture. This was not just a crisis of bad publicity; it took a human toll. The press also reported how one Mormon Army interrogator committed suicide after she was forced to implement these techniques. The “strict father” model certainly is a valid frame from which to view the world, but without the mitigating influence of the “nurturing parent” model, it can lead to abuses.

So how might progressives create a space within Mormon culture for their tribe? The answer is to do exactly what conservative Mormons have done: employ frames both within political discourse and within Church discourse that remap the brain. Mormon theology fully supports an empathy-based frame, perhaps more so than any other Christian denomination. Mormons believe in a Heavenly Mother as well as a Heavenly Father, who are literal parents of each of us. We believe in serving each other and the community. We believe in building communities where people live with one heart, one mind, dwell in righteousness, and eliminate poverty among us—and not just by building gated communities in which the poor are unwlecome. We believe in an earth that is created spiritually, and we can understand environmental responsibility as an act of stewardship. And in a moving examples of a completely nurturant parent, Mormon scripture tells us that God himself looks down from heaven and weeps for his suffering children. In short, Mormon theology supports a metaphorical frame of empathy.

Finally, I believe that as both sides come to understand the workings of language and the mind, we will be able to foster more tolerance. As we discover that each individual’s moral vision is necessarily framed by an organizing primary metaphor, one that necessarily shuts off competing frames, we can better relate to one another. . We will, we can hope, stop assuming that political difference is simply a matter of sinfulness, insanity or not having all the facts. To paraphrase the Apostle Paul, “For now we see through a frame darkly.” We must remember that each of us has a point of view. “I have a point of view,” says Madeline L’Engle, “you have a point of view—God has view.”

Works Cited

Alexander, Thomas G. Mormonism in Transition: A History of the Latter-day Saints, 1890-1930. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1986.

Bushman, Richard Lyman. “The Colonization of the Mormon Mind.” Annual Meeting of the Association for Mormon Letters (2000): 14-23.

Flake, Kathleen. “Re-placing Memory: Latter-day Saint Use of Historical Monuments and Narrative in the Early Twentieth Century.” Religion and American Culture 13 (2003): 69-109.

Gottlieb, Robert, and Peter Wiley. America’s Saints: The Rise of Mormon Power. New York: Putnam, 1984.

Heinerman, John, and Anson Shupe. The Mormon Corporate Empire. Boston: Beacon, 1985.

Lakoff, George. The Political Mind: Why You Can’t Understand 21st-Century American Politics with an 18th-Century Brain. New York: Viking, 2008.

L’Engle, Madeline. Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art. New York: Shaw, 1980.

Mauss, Armand L. “Assimilation and Ambivalence: The Mormon Reaction to
Americanization.” Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought 22.1 (1989): 30-67.

—. “Feelings, Faith, and Folkways.” “Proving Contraries”: A Collection of Writings in Honor of Eugene England. Ed. Robert A. Rees. Salt Lake: Signature, 2005.

Ostling, Richard N., and Joan K. Ostling. Mormon America: The Power and the Promise. New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999.

Prince, Gregory A., and William Robert Wright. David O. McKay and the Rise of Modern Mormonism. Salt Lake: U of Utah P, 2005.

Quinn, D. Michael. Elder Statesman: A Biography of J. Reuben Clark. Salt Lake: Signature, 2005.

—. The Mormon Hierarchy: Extensions of Power. Salt Lake: Signature, 1997.
Shepherd, Gordon, and Gary Shepherd. A Kingdom Transformed: Themes in the Development of Mormonism. Salt Lake: U of Utah P, 1984.
Westen, Drew. The Political Brain: The Role of Emotion in Deciding the Fate of the Nation. New York: Public Affairs, 2007.